


Quasar

by Sheshaventures



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Biting, Claiming, Clothing Kink, Corruption, Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Vaginal Penetration, F/F, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gangbang, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgy, Overstimulation, Scratching, Size Kink, The Scions aren't involved in the sex, Transformation, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 22:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheshaventures/pseuds/Sheshaventures
Summary: An enemy who makes offers of peace is not one to be denied so freely.But in accepting, in pursuing the truth, will you be overwhelmed?





	Quasar

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to all of the lovely souls who inspired it. You know very well who you are.

It was the way he had offered himself to you that stuck itself in your thoughts. Offering his knowledge, his strength, the act of cooperation that none of the other Ascians you had ever met - save one, you could not discount the one - had ever seemed willing to indulge in. The other Scions were quick to dismiss him, but you wondered if perhaps he would be willing to divulge more of the truth.

Especially after the revelations within the caves in Rak'tika.

Night came softly to the Crystarium, and it was under the cover of darkness that you slipped from your rooms. Those most likely to monopolize your time - Ryne and the Twins, as much as you loved them they truly _ did _ eat up your time - were all away for the next several days. Gathering information, Alphinaud had said, but you suspected they merely wished to visit the Chais back in Eulmore, without you sticking out the way you tended to.

You didn't mind, they all three needed the rest, and it afforded you easier passage as you searched for the one called Emet-Selch. He was, by all rights, quite easy to find. But perhaps he had wanted to be found. Sleeping, it appeared, in some corner, tucked away from any foot traffic still remaining at this hour of the day.

You weren't sure what drew you to him so easily, but you resolved to find out.

But when you approached his sleeping form, you did not rouse him immediately. It was strange, seeing one of them at such peace, who, until now, had been your staunchest of enemies. Or so you had thought. Emet-Selch's behavior changed everything, turned every concrete belief that you'd had about the Ascians to rubble, and you were so intrigued by this man. As your eyes swept over his form, you conceded that yes, it certainly helped that he was easy on the eyes - his own seemed of molten gold, awake now, as they fixed upon you, as if waiting for something.

"Hero, what would your friends say if they found you eyeing me in such a manner?" the words were oily, mocking, but as he peered up at you it was difficult to take offense. You had been looming over him, after all.

"Nothing that I would care to hear, right now," the words were harsh, but true. They had been so adamant about setting themselves, setting _ you, _ against him that the very notion exhausted you. "I came to talk to you, actually."

"Oh? Whatever for, I wonder?" curiosity now, oil washed clean from his tone. "Well, I suppose I did offer what knowledge I had in my possession to you and yours, though perhaps your timing could have been better. I was in the middle of such a lovely nap," he stretched as if to punctuate the disturbance, and unbidden you huffed a soft laugh. Dramatic, perhaps, but you found that you didn't mind.

"Why do I feel like I know you?" the words blurted out with little tact, but you were past that at this point. "I dream of you. I remember your smile. I can find you in this busy city without any trouble, without thought." As you speak, his relaxed posture stiffens and those eyes turn to wintry gold. "I feel like I'm missing something, and I think that maybe you could help me find it?"

He stands, slowly, taking his time to straighten his back for the first time since you've met him. That coy grin, so insufferable, infuriating at its worst, turns predatory and full of teeth as his lips pull back.

"Do you truly desire this answer, my dear?" he steps forward, into your space. "It may hold other answers you are not ready for."

You find that you do. So much of your life has been going forward, being urged and pushed, and everything has led you to this man. To him standing close enough that you feel his breath upon your face.

Raising your chin, you nod, "I do. I want this, I want whatever you have to tell me, to give me. I'm..." you trail off, the next words an admission you've long kept inside. "Tired. So tired of others making my choices for me. I'd like to choose this."

There was the sound of a snap, and suddenly you find yourself in a place of darkness, a purple crystal platform that was both familiar yet not. "The things I offer are of a more carnal persuasion," he leaned to speak into your ear, silk across oiled stone. "And in the end, you will see how much like my kind you truly are. There will be no going back, Hero. One last chance to back away, or remain and seal your fate."

"Yes. Whatever it is that you have to throw at me, I can take it. I want this," firm, defiant, and he chuckles at your words.

"Oh, my dear, by the end we may test that claim," and he steps back, rather than forwards. You move to follow, a sound of confusion in your throat, but are bodily stopped by the feeling of several gloved hands, tipped with claws, upon your person.

You were pulled backwards, into a robed body who hauled you down to the ground to lay on top of them. A voice that you could never forget, smooth and lilting, speaks directly into your ear. "Ah, yes, yours truly is a tale for the ages," and Lahabrea chuckles.

Alarm sparks in you, but you do not fight as the numerous hands strip you of your clothing, your weapon, of all protections and barriers you have. The feeling of fabric on your skin, the metal adornments and edge of claws a sharp contrast, wells the first bit of heat within you. "I watched you die, you were-" and hands, _ his _ hands, press claws to your lips to silence you.

"What you believed you saw, and what actually took place, were two different events," his breath was hot on your neck, and you could not suppress the shiver that runs through you. "But alas, this moment is not for that talk, but to sow the seeds of the future."

Emet-Selch still watches you from afar, and with another snap of his fingers conjures himself a comfortable chair to lounge in. He props his chin up with his knuckles, looking like the emperor he had once been, ruling over this court. "Come now, I promised her carnal delights. It would behoove all of us to deliver," and he sounded the part, lording over the robed figures that mob you. Lahabrea chuckles darkly at the other Ascian's words, the vibrations bleeding into your back.

"I do believe such a pretty face deserves my ministrations first," another voice you recognize, that smug purr undeniable as Nabriales steps into your line of vision. "Come now, surely you did not think your trick enough to best me? Did I not say I was immortal?" you have no response for him, and Lahabrea's fingers still hold your silence regardless.

He steps forward, hands bracing upon your thighs as he kneels between your legs. Two sets of hands, presences you do not recognize, begin to play with your breasts, claws hard but teasing your nipples gently. The gasp you make causes the Ascian in front of you to smile, and Nabriales brushes the backs of his claws down over your abdomen, lower, ever teasingly close. "So ready, yet I have barely done anything at all," he sounds amused, but any irritation at his taunting is swept away as his gloved thumb brushes against your folds.

Lahabrea, still beneath you, still holding you tightly in place, begins to speak in a low voice. Each action performed is explained in detail, every hand that brushes your breasts, each claw that combs through your hair - Nabriales at the fork of your legs leaning down, breath hot upon you - and Lahabrea continues to spin the tale.

The first stroke of a tongue, once, up your folds and flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex, has your eyes fall shut and your mouth fall open. Lahabrea's two clawed fingers press inside, against your tongue, holding your mouth open as that taunting tongue begins to take you apart. His narration continues.

Nabriales' tongue is warm, wet, and he is slow, oh, so persistent, but you cannot help but try to squirm as it feels amazing, so carnally good - the weight of many hands holding you down. He finds a rhythm, tests and teases until he finds exactly what works you the most, and then relentlessly drives you as the pleasure mounts. Tongue lapping, pressing down on your clitoris hard enough that you see stars even as your eyes squeeze shut more tightly, but it is that sneering, smug chuckle, vibrating against you, that is your end, and you come undone against his mouth.

Even through the haze of pleasure you feel Nabriales smile against you, his hands holding your hips as they buck up against him. As you still, as you come down from your peak, there is the faintest sensation of coolness seeping into your groin. "What a most inspiring start," your eyes snap open at Emet-Selch's voice, and you are greeted to a sight of debauchery, something straight out of a fantasy.

He lounges in the chair he has sprawled in, still clothed, but robes and pants parted to allow him to grasp his length, fully hard. You meet his eyes and he strokes, once, slow and languid. "Do continue, Nabriales, I know you have been itching to have your fill," his words are sensual, and he does not break eye contact with you. "Besides, I find myself quite enjoying the show."

So distracted are you by his slow motions and the hands that _ still _ toy with your chest that you miss when Nabriales shifts to loom over you, your gaze only tearing from Emet-Selch when you feel a hard, hot length rub along your folds. They are still sensitive, so you make a strangled sound, and his mask is close now, to your face. His smile widens, and Lahabrea's fingers slip from your mouth as Nabriales takes your lips in a kiss, just in time for him to sink inside of you.

His cock splits you open slowly, teasingly, as teasing as his voice in your ear as he taunts you for being unable to rid yourself of him as you once thought. He practically purrs as he hilts himself in you, and you squirm ineffectively as he _ remains there, _ unmoving. The coolness in your belly pulses, once, but the heat that's rising again within you overtakes it.

He does not remain still for long. "So pretty, the face you make for me, such a wonderful look as I take you for mine own," he punctuates every few words with a thrust, and the mocking drawl in your ear only serves to heighten the burn in your belly. Your legs are being held, spread for him, as he takes and takes. He is mostly clothed, still, and the rub of the soft cloth over your bare skin sets your nerves alight.

The pace begins slowly, similar to how he had taken you with his mouth, but quickly his rhythm increases. Faster, faster he goes, taking your lips relentlessly, claws holding your jaw and hip tightly, tips just breaking the skin. He does not care for your pleasure, merely his own, yet still he drags you up that hill once more, no respite even as a hand from an unknown source moves to press hard circles onto your clit. The moan you cry as you break a second time is swallowed down with a snarl as Nabriales reaches his own end, spilling cool - cold, why is it so _ cold _ \- substance inside of you that sinks deep.

It settles, deep within you, and you cannot help but make a confused sound despite your lips and tongue still being entwined with the Ascian inside of you. "The transformation is beginning, you see. You are yet one of us, and we shall bring that to the fore once more," Lahabrea's voice, pausing in his narration, almost exultant in his tone. This revelation should shock you, but you find that you don't care.

Besides the pleasure, besides these activities, you find that this feels _ right. _ You want this. This is your choice.

Nabriales is pulling back, pulling out from you now, but not before leaving a lingering final kiss - a splash of sweetness that is unexpected, yet appreciated. He takes a step away, to the side, and out of your line of sight.

"It appears she has accepted this fate," a female voice this time, Igeyorhm. A glimpse of hands supporting a robed figure is all you get before your vision is obscured as she settles herself over you, sitting securely on your face. Slender, gloved fingers trail over your neck, and a different pair stroke between your legs. You whimper against the Ascian, but dutifully open your mouth to lick her wetness. She is cool, better tasting than any you have sampled before, and despite the overstimulation of the many hands upon you, you are determined to give her the pleasure you have had heaped upon yourself.

It does not take long, your lips and tongue working her, delving inside just slightly before long strokes bring you to the nub of her nerves. She was already so wet, so ready, and you have always been driven to be the best at what you do. Her sighs of pleasure guide you, and the hands return use of one of your arms to you so that you may bring it up to press upon her clit, the simulation enough to drive her over the edge. Her voice catches and a groan breaks from trembling lips, as her hands clutch at your hair.

There is no fluid, no substance, but with your next breath your lungs fill with the same coolness that Nabriales had delivered into your core. Igeyorhm chuckles, completely pleased, before she too is gone from your face and your sight.

A glimpse, Emet-Selch still stroking himself as he watches, before the wave of his hand gives a signal you can only guess at the meaning of.

You do not have to wonder for long.

Lahabrea begins his narration again but you can't focus on his words as an erection is rubbed against your lips. You open them and attempt to bob your head, but hands hold you in place. The presence - you don't know this one - begins to rock in and out, fucking your mouth even as another slides deep inside of your core. You are filled on both ends, and can do nothing but whimper as they _ use _ you, as they take and take - yet give and _ give. _

It feels beyond anything you have ever known, and they are unrelenting now, fingers, claws, scoring lines down your front. Hands kneading your breasts, pinching nipples before fingers are replaced with mouths that suck and nip. Every action is heightened by the cold that is steadily growing within you, as whoever is inside of you gasps out an orgasm, dragging another from you as the chill swells.

But no sooner than you are emptied another moves to slide inside and fill you once again, beginning to thrust despite how you spasm around them. Whoever is using your mouth shoves deep, fingers fisting in your hair - tight but not painful - and with a ragged cry comes down your throat. You swallow as best as you can, despite gagging, and the tears in your eyes are reflexive. When he pulls out you gasp for breath, but even then the respite is brief as another takes his place.

Your belly is just as cold as your core now.

The searing heat of pleasure wars with the cold of whatever they are filling you with, and from across the room you hear Emet-Selch's voice. "I can see it taking root in you, filling you and twisting you from the inside," his voice is just a touch breathy, and though you cannot see him for the bodies around you, you believe he is continuing to pleasure himself. "Do not worry, my dear, it is merely part of us, that Dark aether that suffuses us and makes up our very souls. We will fill you full to bursting, and then snuff out that Light in your chest. And you will become one of us, in truth."

The cock in your throat pulses as he finishes, and it spills from your lips as you moan. The icy wetness trickles down your face, your neck, and a woman this time places herself upon your face. She grinds down on you, taking, and you are slowly becoming less and less aware of your surroundings. A flash of pain pierces through as teeth sink themselves into your neck, the wintry feel burrowing within even from that. Again and again they bite, from different mouths, scattered across your neck and shoulders.

Orgasm after orgasm they force from you, with no rest between as they pleasure you unceasingly. Mouth always filled or ground upon, entrance kept full of throbbing heat, they take turn after turn and you have long lost count. Your body spasms, twitches, overstimulation left behind long ago and moved onto the almost painful. Yet the pain _ is _ pleasure, and you are grounded by Lahabrea's endless narration in your ear, his own arousal grinding gently against your lower back.

You lose track of time.

But time must continue, because after a while it feels as if the aether has filled you - you feel so full, inside your very heart, inside your soul, yet still the warmth of the Blessing in your breast shines stubbornly like a bulwark against the Dark.

Your body is limp, long past the point where you would be able to support yourself, and the other Ascians have withdrawn for the time being. Lahabrea has remained under you, holding you to him - holding you in place, steady - this entire time, and you are perfectly pliant as he sits you up within his lap. It is but the work of moments to lift you, and now it is _ him _ sinking inside of you slowly, hilting and chuckling darkly into your ear. His robed chest presses against your heated back as you lean heavily against him.

Having been given a moment of peace, his filling you feels wonderful once more, bringing you soft ecstasy as a quiet moan makes its way through your lips, your voice long since hoarse. The rocking way he thrusts inside you is almost tender, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as the other steadies your hips.

Across the way Emet-Selch is still there, looking more ruffled now as he _ still _ strokes himself slowly. His clothing is half shed, his breathing is coming in pants, and the smile that curls about his lips as your eyes meet his is the most smug you have ever seen him. Smug, with a new brightness in his eyes that you have never seen before.

Abruptly, there is the whirl of violet and black aether, and from the rift a white-robed figure strides forth. Three appear behind him, bound and gagged, unable to move, as Elidibus steps forward.

It is the Scions, you distantly recognize. Thancred, Y'shtola, and Urianger, propped against the amethyst crystal and held there. The moment they recognize you their forms stiffen in alarm, and you can hear them fighting against their bonds. But you can't bring yourself to care, not with Lahabrea pleasuring you the way he was, not with the cold Dark filling you up the way it was.

Elidibus strides towards you, slowly, purposefully, and through the blur of your mind, the fog of pleasure, you see him smile. "All will be as it once was," the words are soft, almost gentle. "You have realized how similar we truly are, and together we shall bring order to the star. These three shall witness your ascension. By His will."

Brown gloves tipped in gold claws cup your face, and you lean into the touch. The contact is broken, however, when Lahabrea tips you both backwards so that you once again lay atop his body - though he never pulls from you. What shocks you, is that Elidibus follows you both down, nestling between your legs as hands - whose owners you don't know - hold your legs apart. He leans over you, the beak of his mask brushing your nose, and after a moment of rustling cloth you feel a second hardness press against your opening.

Automatically, your mouth opens to protest, but he shushes you softly and begins to press inside. The stretch is something you had never felt before, the burn of it just this side of painful, and with tiny thrusts from Lahabrea easing his entry Elidibus soon bottoms out within you.

The shock pierces the haze about you, you have never felt this _ full, _ and the two men give you but a single moment before they move. The rhythm should feel disjointed, should feel strange, but it does not. They plunge within you again and again, stuffing you and pushing you to what feels like your breaking point. The babbling that slips from your lips is nonsensical, as you are overwhelmed by such a feeling.

But then they begin to speed up. White above, black below, you in the center, and they are _ merciless _ as they drive into you now. You can do nothing but wail as the pleasure crests over you, and yet still they keep going - you are not sure whose grunt it was when your walls clamped down upon them, only that it was breathless. Again and again they drive you, and your voice _ breaks _ as you are sobbing, that bright spot of Light in your chest flaming hot, sputtering now, as Lahabrea himself stiffens with a shout, filling you with more cold than you have yet felt. Your body shivers, you hear the Scions making what appear to be denials, but you can't bring yourself to pay them mind.

It is not long before Elidibus follows, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as he shudders. But the cold from him is deeper, darker, flooding you more thoroughly than any before. It overwhelms the Blessing, dimming it to the barest flicker and through the aftershocks trembling throughout your body you feel as if you are on the cusp of something. On the edge of a greatness, a rightness, and you cannot help but to reach for it.

"By His will," is murmured in your ear, and you turn your head to catch Elidibus' lips with your own before he can pull away. He stops, seemingly surprised, before you feel him smile against your mouth and return the kiss tenderly for a few brief moments.

He moves back, up, out, and away from you, going to stand where there are ten other figures grouped together, all robed in black - you catch the tilted smile of Nabriales, see Igeyorhm's mask as she watches you. But even as Elidibus moves away, Lahabrea does not, merely shifting to pull himself out of you.

"I confess, I have not been so entertained by any spectacle for quite some time," your turn your head to look at Emet-Selch once again. His body practically shakes with his heaving breath, and he stands, shedding his ornate clothing. "But you, my dear, have done wonderfully. Really, you have met any expectations I could have had and outdone them all." A snap, and he too is wearing those spiked robes. "I have waited so patiently for you, but now, the final honors go to _ me. _"

And finally, _ finally_, Emet-Selch was upon you. The director of this dark, sinful choir himself, sinking into you effortlessly with one solid push. The bites along your neck and shoulders throb, the cold, Dark aether seeping through your body a sharp contrast to the hotness of his arousal. He gives a sharp _ thrust, _ once, twice, _ thrice, _ and you come apart merely from that, mind whirling as your vision fails you.

Off to the side, you distantly hear your friends as they call through their bonds, gags preventing understanding - but you do not _ care. _ You are _ alive, _ in this moment, the Darkness seeping through every inch of you and Emet-Selch thrusts a _ fourth _ time, on the heels of your orgasm, and he takes your lips with his.

Lahabrea is not idle, under you, as Emet-Selch ravishes your form. His dulcet voice croons to you in your ear, breath hot against the shell, as he chuckles, "Ah, Hero, so this is how your tale with us shall end. To be taken again and again, to _ become _ us, and yet you do not resist."

He's right. You don't resist. You feel the Darkness seep into the heart of you and the hot, bright glimmer of your Blessing is slowly overcome. It pulses, weakly, before it ** _dies._ ** All at once you go cold, then white hot as the Speaker continues to mock you, praise you, all things in between as Emet-Selch, no, as _ Hades _ continues to drive into you, that name screaming into your mind like a man possessed. Fingers flow into talons as his form grows larger, on the cusp of something other than human, and he swells inside of you to match.

If you had felt full before, with both Lahabrea and Elidibus inside of you, it is far beyond that now. But still he thrusts, deep, deeper, and his lips claim yours for his. He swallows down every noise you make and yet still you feel him change above you, an extra limb here or there, a crown upon his head. He subjugates you and you surrender to him, even as he takes you apart, as he remakes you.

There is glee in the moans against your lips, torn from him as he sups upon you at last, and slowly you look over the edge you had felt before. He takes you there, hand in hand, and the two of you fling yourselves into oblivion. You're screaming, words you do not understand and unintelligible nonsense, and he roars into your mouth as you come apart _ together. _ But he does not leave it at that, he continues, driving both of you up and coming crashing down a second, a _ third _ time.

It is only when both of your bodies tremble that he ceases, that third and final end too much for either of you. Fangs sink into your shoulder, marking you with distant pain - marking you as _his_ \- before they withdraw. Grey hands ending in fierce golden talons cup your face, and as he kisses you - gently, _ lovingly, _ eyes molten with the emotion - the Dark within you _ detonates. _

You are no longer on that platform. You are within yourself, facing the bright blue-white of a massive crystal in front of you. It tries to speak, but you pay it no mind, turning your back on it and walking away. There are thirteen figures in the distance, eleven in robes of black, one in robes of white, and one dressed in ornate robes of Garlean make. Behind them looms a black and violet crystal, and you move forward to join them. The brightness behind you keens, but with a wave of your hand it is banished.

When you open your eyes, Emet-Selch is above you, stroking his - human once more - fingers over your face. You rest in his lap, hooded robes of black with metal adornments covering your form. Across the platform the Scions are gone, and twelve figures - one white, eleven black - stand in a group. A kiss is pressed to the crown of your head, and wetness drops down onto your cheeks. Tired, exhausted beyond measure, you reach up to wipe tears of joy from his face and smile up at him.

"Welcome home, my dear," he murmurs, warm and full of love, and reverently he presses a red mask - your mask - to your face.

**Author's Note:**

> Some people just want to watch the world burn. I am one of those people.


End file.
